Wednesday, July 1, 2009

From a Wendy House to a Real House...

It's a short week at work for many people this week, me included. I can't tell you how happy this makes me. I could use a long weekend. I need time to get things done and get organized. I keep waking up in a cold sweat, thinking of new things I have to do or have to get for the house.

I think I'm taking it all a little seriously and it's time to step back and realize that I'm never going to get the house perfect before I move in so I should just do what I can and shut up about it.

The sad thing is, aside from the house, there's not a whole lot going on this week. I'm not complaining. After last week's conference, it's nice that things are quiet. It's July the 4th this weekend. As a Brit, it's hard to get terribly excited about that. It makes me feel a little guilty because I've enjoyed the hospitality of living in the States for a long time now. However, there's still a tiny bit of me saying, "whatever!" This is not to say I don't enjoy fireworks, hot dogs, and corn on the cob which is pretty much July the 4th to me. Well, it's also in my mind as a holiday in which cakes are baked and are decorated by the U.S. flag made out of berries. Seriously, check out any Independence Day-themed baking/cooking/home magazine. Someone always has one of those cakes and how to make it in there.

Aside from cakes, fireworks and food, the holiday is just a nice day off, I think. It's a time to spend with family being lazy and doing the most summer-y things like swimming, playing baseball and camping. It's actually usually the time in which I would fly home from L.A. every year and spend a week with my family. It was often the first time I'd been home since Christmas and it was always hard to wrap my mind around seeing my parent's house and garden resplendent in summer flowers and trees instead of being barren and snow-covered as it had been when I'd left a few months before.

This year, I'm not going to be spending it with my family. I find that ironic that the first year I'm actually close enough to drive there, I'm not going to go. This is not to say I don't want to but it's just going to be the perfect time to paint my living room, get a lawnmower and do summer-y things around my house. I had a bit of a minor panic-attack yesterday when I realized that I only have two weekends before my furniture is to be moved in which also means I'll be moving in. That's not much time when you want it to look decent by the time things arrive.

I hate having those stress-attacks. They usually result in me calling my mother and taking it out on her. I did that last night and I feel horrible. I'm just so muddled about what I have to do and what I should be doing. Fortunately, upon my realization that it wasn't that bad, I managed to get hold of my stress. I think it came upon the fact that I went to make rice for dinner, only to realize that I had taken my rice tub to my new house and thus couldn't have rice. I realized then that my over-avid packing/transporting of boxes was under control. Probably too under control.

The bottom line is that I knew it was going to be a lot of work to move to my house, I just didn't realize quite how much work the place needed. Fortunately, I have two rooms that I don't need to paint and those rooms can store my boxes for now. I don't have to be unpacked before I officially move in. I have time for that.

I just hate getting overwhelmed but the older I get, the more that seems to be happening. I should be finding things easier, not harder. I suppose it's because I'm well and truly an adult now and the decisions I make are decisions for life. I hate being a grown-up at times like this. Part of me wants to revert back to being a child in which I had the luxury of picking-and-choosing what I did and relying on my parents to fill in the gaps that my choices left. Nowadays, I can't do that and occasionally I forget. Yet, ever onward I move forward and if it means my living room doesn't get painted immediately, so be it. I'm declaring this an Independence Day from stress and I'm going to attempt to not let the burden of being a homeowner overshadow the fact that I own a house and that's a cool thing.

When we were children in England, our classrooms would often have what we called Wendy Houses in the play corner. They were little tents or structures in which we would play house, pretending to cook dinner and doing all sorts of domestic stuff. Primarily the girls played there but occasionally boys would come in and try out the feel for domesticity. I think we all just assumed that one day, we'd have a house of our own and we wanted to practice.

Now, that experience seems quaint but hopeful. To look it at from that point of view means my dream came true. I have a house, not just a Wendy house. So that's the view I'm going to take and let the excitement seep in and not be drowned out by reality-tinted dread.

Of course, in true Monkeypants fashion, I truly used to like to spend my Wendy house time pretending the house was haunted and pretending it was a castle surrounded by a crocodile-filled moat rather than pretend to be making dinner. Now I look back, I realize I probably should have focused more on the domesticity element.

Oh well, at least there aren't any crocodiles at my house.

I hope.

Happy Wednesday.

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